Things Never Change
by Kaleyanne
Summary: Masaru drops in on Touma for a chat... after the Savers epilogue. Slight shounen ai. Spoilers. Short.


_Written for LiveJournal community fivebyfiction, prompt 'What?' Was also kinda supposed to be for digimondrabbles prompt 'shave,' but it's too long now. _

_Vague Masaru/Touma shounen ai._

"You need a shave," was the first thing Touma noticed about him, and the best thing he could think of to say. So he said it.

Masaru blinked owlishly. "It's been six years, what the hell was that?" 'Considering I just walked into your kitchen at five-thirty in the morning and you're wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe and glasses' was not said aloud, but certainly implied.

Touma poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee. "Closer to seven years," he corrected, after a deep drink. Post-caffeine, Masaru was still standing in his kitchen; Touma was free now to conclude that he was not hallucinating. "I hope you went home first."

"Oh yeah. Been there a day already. Say," Masaru was fidgeting just a bit; he looked like a fish out of water if Touma had ever seen one, "mind sharing some of that?"

"Help yourself," Touma said casually, sitting down again. His was a small, square table with only four chairs, two of which had been left in the grand dining room the last time he entertained company. On it was the coffee pot, yesterday's newspaper, his keys and a plate of various pastries. The last item he moved so that it was easier to reach for someone sitting in the other chair.

"Thanks," Masaru replied, pulling a plain ceramic mug out of a cabinet and taking the unoccupied chair. Touma immediately filled it, as Masaru took a moment to revel in the luxury that was refined sugar.

"Doughnut's great," he said happily, after swallowing a large mouthful. "Are they fresh… fried or whatever?"

"Fresh from the box," Touma said with a shrug. If it were anybody but Masaru on the other side of the table, he might have been startled by how nonchalant he sounded. But Masaru surprising him had stopped… well, surprising him.

"Oh. Still good, though." He paused to take a sip of coffee; when he saw it wasn't hot, he drained the mug in one gulp. "I like your glasses, by the way," he added, teasing.

"I like your outfit, too," Touma replied, same tone.

"Eh? What's wrong with it?" Masaru demanded, irritated by his old partner's calm, patient smile. "It's the exact same thi—jerk."

Touma laughed softly into his cup, while Masaru made a face and shoved another doughnut into his mouth. "Jerk," he repeated, not sounding even the slightest bit upset. "Doesn't see a guy in forever and has to pull somethin' like that."

"And whose fault is that?" Touma protested lightly, glancing at the old newspaper and wondering if it was worth sending someone to check for today's. Or if someone was awake to be sent. "Besides. How many jerks would share their breakfast with an uninvited guest they hadn't seen in six years?"

"Closer to seven," Masaru said snidely, polishing off his third doughnut. Touma refilled both their coffee cups as he laughed again.

"Open door," he apologized. Masaru waved it off. "Which reminds me. How did you get in here, anyway?" Once again, 'in spite of my very, very expensive alarm systems, guards and suchlike' was not vocalized, but clearly understood.

"Oh," said Masaru, pausing in his demolition of Touma's breakfast. He set his half-eaten cheese Danish back down. "No big deal. I just busted a window and climbed on in." He shrugged. "It was easy."

"_What_?" Touma demanded, slamming his cup to the table so hard that a few drops spilled out. His easygoing demeanor was suddenly forgotten; he was shocked both at Masaru's audacity and the fact that Masaru could still shock him. "You did _what_? For heaven's sake, did you forget the_ doorbell_?"

"I'll pay you back," said Masaru, indifferent, but still throwing his hands up in defense.

"With _what_?" Touma exclaimed. "It's not like you've ever had a job!"

"I'll think of something. And, gee, it's not like you're _rich_ or anything," he added, a smug little smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

Touma could almost feel his blue Digisoul warming in his fist. About the only thing that stopped him from burying that selfsame fist in Masaru's face was the memory of the times he had in the past.

"Relax, relax," Masaru admonished, but now sounding like he was desperately trying not to laugh. "There's absolutely noth—don't give me that look," he whined. "Last time you gave me that look, you also gave me a huge bruise."

"Maybe you deserve a huge bruise," Touma threatened, but he was neither eager nor planning on following through.

Masaru grinned. "Relax," he repeated. "You are so easy, you idiot. I used Chika's key."

And Touma promptly smacked himself in the forehead. "Jerk," he muttered, before he could stop himself.

"Open door," Masaru said with a huge laugh. "You deserve it."

"Very funny." Cheek now resting in his palm, Touma quietly looked Masaru up and down as he laughed. Besides needing a shave, he looked all right. His clothes were ragged but clean, and his hair was well past his shoulders, but still washed, brushed and pulled back. Touma smiled fondly. "You will never change," he said confidently. He liked that thought; it brought him much comfort over the last few years.

Masaru calmed down enough to take back his Danish, but his smile remained bright as he started looking around. Touma stayed silent, as he noticed the keys and picked them up. Besides his mansion and cars here in Japan, they were keys to cars, homes and offices in Vienna, Stockholm, Paris, New York and Beijing. All were on the same ring, with only one picture frame key chain attached.

The portrait in the frame was of a beautiful girl with long, fluffy blonde curls and wide violet eyes. Masaru was studying it intently, as if he could fall into it and meet the subject; learn everything about her from sight alone.

Touma frowned when he went to pour more coffee and saw that there was none left. He sighed, settling for taking a pastry to bite into pensively while Masaru stared at his keys.

"This your sister?" he finally asked, looking up. Touma nodded. "Relena, yeah? She's cute."

"Thank you." Touma paused long enough to take a bite, chew and swallow. "I think."

"Ha, ha. She was cute before you won a Nobel Prize, too, don't worry. I think I saw her once."

"Yes." Touma nodded again. "A long time ago."

"Yeah." Masaru went back to Relena's picture. "And I guess she's why Kurata…"

"Yes," Touma interrupted. "Also a long time ago."

Masaru sighed, and put the keys back where they were. He rested his elbows on the table, then his chin in his hands, and looked at Touma critically.

"That whole thing is still kinda overwhelming," he admitted. "I don't think about it much, but when I do, it's heavy."

"We never really had time to sit down and talk the whole thing over," Touma said steadily. "Maybe that would have helped."

"Maybe that would've helped a lot of stuff," Masaru said, his voice softer than Touma ever remembered hearing it, but no less forceful and sure. "I guess that's kinda why I'm here. Also kinda why I left Agumon and Gaomon with my parents—I know you've been dying to ask him about him since I walked in, even more than how I got in here. Don't deny it."

"I wouldn't," Touma reassured him, smiling slightly. "Right now, I want to see him more than anything else in the world. But I missed you, too."

"A lot?" Masaru asked, looking him straight in the eyes. "Because I missed you, too. A whole hell of a lot. I mean, I'm probably not gonna stay here for very long, so long as we don't think it's time for humans and Digimon to mix just yet. But me and Agumon, and everybody else, we wanted to visit for just a little while."

"'A whole hell of a lot,'" Touma echoed. "That sums it all up, really." He took a deep breath, and was about to say something he hoped would be profound, and touching, and convey everything he was feeling, but… Masaru. Touma shook his head.

"You're something else," he finally settled on, his tone affectionate. "You never change. And damn it_, it took you long enough._"

Masaru grinned at him, and Touma returned it. "Great!" he began. "Since we got that settled, wanna go back to my parents' for breakfast before Agumon eats all the fried eggs? He hasn't talked about anything else since we decided to do this."

Amused, Touma silently gestured to the now-empty plate and raised his eyebrows.

"It's the principle of the thing," Masaru asserted. "You can catch up with Gaomon and everybody, and after that we can all go to a movie or something. And just… take it from there. I guess."

"Sounds great," he replied, standing up. "I'll have someone bring a car around, so just let me get dressed." He glanced again at Masaru's raggedy old clothes; the same ones he wore to enter the Digital World years ago.

Touma gave an almost theatrical sigh. "Suppose we'll have to find something for you, too," he added, mock critically. "You're hardly presentable."

Masaru's grin turned wolfish.


End file.
